Unimpressive
by Tribble Master
Summary: Melvin was unpopular. This pattern continued, sadly, even into his after life. As a ghost, and human, he was impressively unimpressive. Even the Winchesters have trouble with this troublsome ghost. Set second season, with hurt!Dean and disgruntled!Sam
1. How to Lose Friends and Make Enemies

This story is set after the second season episode Hunted, after Ava died.

I refer in this story to Azazel as Yellow Eyes because his name was not yet known in the show.

**Beta: LivingForTV**

_Unimpressive_

**Chapter One: How to Lose Friends and Make Enemies**

Melvin was unpopular. This pattern continued, sadly, even into his after life. As a ghost, and human, he was impressively unimpressive. Never leaving a mark, hardly a squeak… Melvin was undoubtedly boring. As a result, in life and death, few people reached out to him.

Like his voice, his death was quiet. His disappearance was mentioned in the paper, briefly at the bottom of page three. The only people that really read the article were the birds that had nothing better to do but gawk at what lined their cages. When the paper was changed, and the small town found something new to gossip about, he moved on. Since no girl, dead or alive, would have him, he remained continuously alone. After being stuck next to an antique store for the past decade, Melvin felt drawn to move on. The most entertaining thing of late, was his current fascination with haunting this motel. In another couple of years, he knew he'd probably have to carry on. He couldn't imagine for the life of him why he was tied to Earth, but he seemed to be the way things worked. And for now, as long as he was tied down, he would enjoy the drifters that wandered into, as he considered it, "his" motel.

Currently, room 113 was occupied. Despite Melvin's protesting and general disregard for rules (no throwing the furniture, my ass), the manager of the motel kept the room open. Melvin hated it but the room was taken by two brothers. They came barging in with duffle bags that were filled with all sorts of oddities. He listened to their chatter, as he caught up on current events. Apparently, his friend back in Minnesota was dead and that Tasty Freeze was no longer haunted. Melvin was suddenly very angry at the brothers for their brazen dislike of the supernatural. Muttering something obscene, he rolled up the sleeves of his plaid button up shirt and marched over to where they sat at the kitchen table.

As he snuck up behind Dean with his arms held out, Dean shouted, "What the hell! It's like all the evil in the world took a vacation!"

Melvin froze as Dean continued to point at the web of research on the table. Sam started to protest before Dean continued, "After Ava I was sure there would be something. Sam, there is literally _no _evil activity!"

Melvin pushed his horn rimmed glasses, his one distinguishing feature, up his nose and frowned. Typical. The kitten that haunted the laundry matt had promised to keep him informed of all spirit activity before scurrying away. Clearly, that was a lie. As to the old lady that floated around the liquor store in her flowery bathrobe… Well, he had doubted she could be trusted from the start based on her shifty tulip themed shower cap. But from what he was hearing, all the other intangible bastards had decided to take a vacation without him.

Scowling, he prepared to leave. Melvin briefly considered killing his intended victims but thought better of it. There was no point really. If he was going to get any respect, he'd have to do something _huge _and potentially prank-ish. For that, he would need them breathing.

"Dean?" Sam looked up. "Is something behind you?"

Dean looked around, and through, Melvin. "No," Dean shrugged, "Nothing."

Sam tucked his hair behind one ear as he sighed. "So what do you think is causing this?"

"Nothing good." Dean snorted. "It's gotta be something big, right?"

He slumped and floated away through the motel. In all likely-hood it was about ole Yellow Eyes again, because apparently there was nothing better to gossip about. Not even Elvis sightings, or sightings of the recently dead, were as enticing as gossip about that demon. If no one bothered to tell him, then Melvin decided he probably shouldn't care.

Melvin leaned against the motel front desk, with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched people trickle into the hotel. He had never been anti-social by choice, always isolated without his permission. He glanced over at the front desk. The owner of the crumbling motel was working. The man, Mr. Owens to employees, was a man of peculiar taste. He liked vintage things, because they were cheap to obtain and could be considered classy. For example, the horn rimmed black glasses he wore. He was really quite fond of them, even though at night they seemed move about his room. Melvin also thought they were impressive glasses, even a tad familiar, and couldn't help but inspect curiously at night. He still wore his glasses, even though they were unnecessary. It was another habit he hadn't shaken, even though he was dead.

Melvin had been dead quite a while, and as he brooded on his untimely death he wondered if anyone missed him. Probably not. After all, no one had gone to the trouble of finding him. Melvin pushed his glasses up his nose as he remembered that day so long ago.

Waking up from that awful nightmare people called life; he had originally been quite pleased being part of the exclusive club of the undead. It seemed like a chance to start over, and maybe even be popular. But just like that first day in high school, he was horribly wrong. He snapped his pale fingers together as he suddenly remembered. _High school. _Since Melvin had never left Earth, he hadn't been to Hell yet. But he assumed it was similar to what he had experienced during his life in those gray lifeless walls.

Melvin concentrated very hard on imagining those horrible years in the past. Surely, something could be salvaged in his memory. Perhaps there was a horrific prank, something he could use to scare people and gain some respect. He was the victim of enough pranks to know something. Pop rocks and cola, that was the last prank he'd experienced. He was sure the doctors would have been mystified by his autopsy if one had ever been done-- drowned on cola and choked on pop rocks. Melvin had to laugh now that he saw that in retrospect. That was a good prank.

Melvin adjusted his bow tie and pocket protector and strode out of the motel. He had to pick up some items at the store.

At the store, he floated aimlessly down the isles. He bit his lip as he considered the different brands of cola. Melvin longed for the simple Woolworth's days when there were only two brands and they were both a quarter. Grumbling, he grabbed the biggest two bottles of cola he could handle and stalked off to the next isle. Thankfully, there was only one brand of pop rocks to be seen.

The items kept slipping through his fingers, even as Melvin willed himself to stay solid. As he struggled out of the store, only a small child saw the floating bottles. Her mother told her it was rude to point, and so the only witness was silenced.

Back at the motel, Dean and Sam were packing together their items. Sam kept finding himself wanting to ask a question, but every time he tried to speak his jaw locked. He'd run away to find answers, and he hadn't come any closer to finding out what Yellow Eyes wanted with him. As to his brother, Dean didn't want to say a word. Gordon was in jail, and that meant the conversation was over.

But Ava…

She wasn't in jail. She wasn't anywhere. And Sam wanted to ask what Dean thought. The more he wondered though, the more he feared the worse. After all, her fiancée had been found in an ocean of, presumably, his own blood.

He grabbed a handful of his clothes and started to shove them into his bag. Sam looked up in annoyance as the lights flickered. "Freaking cheap motels," Dean hissed and his breath unfurled before him.

Dean looked at Sam, his eyes conveying the truth: There was a ghost in the room.

Dropping their laundry, they each reached for a gun and spun around as they searched for the invading presence. Melvin had to give them points for speed, but they were still no match for his decades of practice. Melvin appeared with the coke in his hand out stretched. "Prepare to be pranked!"

Dean looked at Sam. Sam shrugged. Melvin continued to roar, "You will be the victims of Pop Rocks and Cola!"

Dean started to laugh as Sam held up his hand. "Wait, who the hell are you and why should we care?"

"Melvin Harbunkle," Melvin said, feeling his temper rise, "And you should care because I'm your worst fucking nightmare!"

Dean began to shake now, as he laughed. He choked out, "Sam, shoot him already."

Melvin fumed. This was not what he had planned. The old lady from the liquor store would have had them scared shitless by now. Melvin snarled as he started to fumble with the cola cap. "You'll see. My wrath is terrible!"

Sam snorted at the ghost and fired his riffle. Melvin saw the shot coming and sidestepped the blast. Sam rolled his eyes and re-aimed just as the cap to the soda came free. Coke started to foam as Melvin, concentrating as hard as he possibly could, willed the pop rocks package to rip open. The pop rocks package was torn with such force that they flew wild instead of into the coke bottle. "Fudge." Melvin muttered darkly.

He looked up and noticed Dean's lax grip on his gun. Furious Melvin dropped the open bottle of coke and picked up the unopened and full bottle by the neck. He swung the bottle in a wide arch and hit Dean across the side of his face. Dean was knocked to the ground with his head spinning, and a nice bruise forming on the side of his jaw.

Sam's face dropped all traces of humor as fired the gun three times in rapid succession. Melvin, who had been ready to strike again, disappeared quickly as the rock salt hit him. 

Dean tenderly touched his jaw and hissed when he felt swelling. "That bastard." Dean looked over at Sam. "We're so burning his bones."

Sam looked around and as he double checked Melvin was gone. He huffed, "You're damn right." He walked over to Dean and held out his hand. "What was his name again?"

"Melvin." Dean said venomously. "Harbunckle."

Sam reached for his laptop. "Well, you better get some ice on your jaw." Sam settled into the bed. "And I'll see what I can find."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Melvin pieced his ghostly spirit back together outside on the motel's pool deck. During the late fall, no one was outside at 11 in the morning. He kicked at the water and scowled. He _died _because of pop rocks and cola. Clearly, he had forgotten something.

The he realized- he'd been held down at the time and the foul liquid had been forced into his throat. Something he hadn't done to those two infuriating hunters.

_Damn, this ghost stuff took practice_, he thought.

It shouldn't have been too hard to scare up a good prank. But clearly, even the simplest prank was beyond him. It occurred to Melvin that that was probably why he had no respect among the spirit community. Melvin sat up and smiled as realized the hunters weren't his problem. The other ghosts were. And if he wanted any chance of scarring them, he should probably ask the Winchesters for help.

He remembered the old phrase: Killing two birds with one stone.

How appropriate.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean had tried to pack while juggling an ice pack against the side of his face. His curses and grumblings were quickly muted as he discovered talking only increased his pain. Dean settled on short one word sentences when anything important needed saying. "Bored." He grunted at Sam.

Sam didn't even look up from his computer screen. He continued to type rapidly as he spoke. "So clean your gun."

Dean held up his glimmering, freshly polished gun. "All packed." He said as he surveyed his haphazard bag that had socks sticking out of it.

"Let me guess." Sam looked up. "You want to burn the bones."

"Yes." Dean said as if the fact was inherently obvious. It actually was, and Sam too felt the strong tug of fate urging them to dispose of the annoyingly incompetent ghost.

Sam opened his laptop and gestured at the screen. "Yeah, sounds great Dean. Problem is, no one knows where his body his." Sam turned to Dean again. "Melvin Harbunkle went missing in 1958 as a high school sophomore."

Dean's jaw was a nasty purple color, and it was no wonder Dean's words were becoming short and curt. Dean paced as he grumbled. "Something's tying him down."

"Not really." Melvin said morosely as he appeared leaning against the wall. "I used to wonder that too."

Sam picked up his riffle and pointed it at Melvin. "Hey, Melvin. Back so soon?"

Melvin shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. He kept his tone light as he spoke, "Anthony burned my bones after they all got killed of me. And his tool shed." Melvin crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the riffle moodily. "Watch were you point that, would ya? Hurts like a bitch."

"So does this." Dean snapped gesturing to his jaw.

Sam tentatively relaxed his grip on the gun. "Melvin… why are you attacking us?"

Dean glared as he stood beside Sam. "Yeah. Why." He demanded as much as he could without moving his jaw.

Melvin kicked at the ground. "'Cause nobody listens to me. Or talks to me." He took off his glasses and wiped them on the edge of his shirt. He mumbled. "With ole Yellow Eyes gathering up the special kids all of the spirits took a break…"

Sam froze. "What was that?" He looked at Dean and they shared the exact same thought: _Ava. _Sam leaned closer to Melvin and growled, "What do you know about the yellow eyed demon?"

Melvin looked at the grim faced Winchesters and smirked. He knew an angle when he saw it. "Sorry fellas, but like I said they don't keep me in the loop. And even if I could tell you, I'm not supposed to."

Dean flexed his fingers, wishing he could pummel a ghost. "Sam. Gun."

"Happily." Sam raised the riffle and prepared to fire salt rounds.

"Wait!" Melvin held up his hands. This was not going as he had planned. "I'll tell you guys everything you want to know!"

"What's in it for you?" Dean said. He bit his tongue and remained silent as his jaw throbbed.

"I just want some help." Melvin confessed. "Some respect from the other spirits would be nice."

"And then you'll tell us?" Sam asked gesturing with the riffle.

"Yes!" Melvin sighed. "You just gotta let me pull one prank…"

"Fine." Dean grunted.

Sam nodded. "We'll see you later then." He said as he fired the gun, and Melvin disappeared for the time being.

"Good call." Dean sighed as walked over to the fridge for a fresh bag of ice.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Melvin reappeared inside the motel's laundry mat, sitting on top of the dryer. "Boo." He said grumpily as he slumped on the quivering machinery. The machine continued to shake in mock horror as it did its job.

Melvin fumed. Those Winchesters hadn't been useful at all. Things would be so much easier if there was someone to confide in. But of course, all the ghosts had fled. Azazel was collecting wayward spirits to use as target practice at his special Campground. The smart sprits had fled safety or been captured. Melvin only knew they were fleeing, why he couldn't fathom. Any of his friends, using that term loosely, that he used to confide in had been roasted by hunters. He snapped his fingers.

Roasted by hunters. Now there was potential for hilarity there, he mused, if someone was to reverse the situation.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam was exhausted. He tugged the covers of the scratchy bed over his body. Turning to lie on his back, he folded his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. "Dean?"

Dean's hand hovered above the lamp switch. He withdrew his arm, and rested propped up on his elbows. "Yeah?"

"You think Ava will be okay?" Sam carefully avoided eye contact so his brother wouldn't judge him. He was worried for Ava, and just as worried as what her fate might mean for him. If Yellow Eyes was gathering up all the psychics, Sam knew it wouldn't be long before he was taken.

Dean judged Sam's relaxed posture, and knew his brother was lying. Sam's shoulders were just slightly hunched, and his brows were furrowed. Dean had done it enough times himself to recognize when someone else was exuding the opposite of what they felt. "I'm sure she'll be fine." Dean placated Sam. "We'll find her, Sammy."

Sam turned his head to look at Dean. "You don't have to treat me like an idiot."

Dean sighed and leaned against his headboard. "Look, Melvin said he'd tell us something. That's at least one lead, right?"

Sam nodded his head. "That's true. But that's only if we let him pull a prank."

"Don't remind me." Dean groaned. He reached over and hit the light. "We'll worry about it in the morning."

Dean slid down into his bed. He slept with one hand under his pillow, and his fingers lightly resting on his blade's hilt under it. He was snoring within minutes. Sam laid awake for almost another half an hour, tossing and turning before he finally succumbed to slumber.

At almost two am, Melvin began to tug at Sam's foot. Sam started to wake up as he felt the motion, but Melvin quieted him a wave of his hand. Grunting with the effort, Melvin flickered as he pulled the awkwardly tall Winchester. Melvin almost fell twice, nearly thwarted by Sam's length. For once, Sam's height was beneficial. As Sam's unconscious form hit the ground with a loud thunk, Dean bolted upright.

Dean held his knife out in front of him as he threw back the covers. "Who's there?" he growled as he stumbled out of bed.

Sam was sprawled in between the two beds, immobile. He didn't feel any of the action around him. Dean was so busy looking around he didn't notice what was at his feet. Tangled up by Sam's haphazard limbs, Dean tripped. His knife flew out of hand as he crashed against the bed post. His head was hit and as he lost consciousness he cursed Sasquatch.

With strength that even surprised Melvin, he dragged them to the outside of the motel. An empty construction lot was only a few feet away. Melvin rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, secured his pocket protector, and bravely carried on his kidnapping of the Winchesters.

**.:To Be Continued:.**


	2. How To Do A Salt and Burn

**Beta: LivingForTV**

_Unimpressive_

**Chapter Two: How to do a Salt and Burn (properly)**

The day's construction workers had done their jobs well, and a large open pit was exposed in the middle of the yard. The dirt was cold and hard, awaiting purpose. Melvin happily tossed the Winchesters into the pit. He looked around and cursed as he realized he had forgotten the lighter fluid.

Fuming, he stalked around the campsite as he searched for something combustible. Dean groaned and started to wake up. His noises alerted Melvin to yet another delay in his scheme. Stomping back over to the pit, he grabbed some rope and tied the Winchesters together before they were fully free of his temporary influence.

Satisfied with his work, Melvin resumed his search. Behind him, he could hear them stirring but he didn't think they could do much at the moment. Alive or dead, Melvin often made incorrect assumptions.

Sam stirred as Dean prodded him with his elbow. They were tied back to back in the middle of the pit. "Hey! Psychic wonder!" Dean hissed. "Get up!"

"Erm?" Sam blinked his eyes tiredly as he mumbled. "Was goin' on?"

"We're having a fucking tea party!" Dean growled. "What the hell do you think?"

Sam tried to turn to face Dean, but reality set into his dazed senses. He felt the rope cutting into his wrists. "Melvin." He said darkly.

"Exactly." Dean snapped. "Now use your freaky psychic powers and get these ropes free!"

"It doesn't work like that!" Sam said indignantly as his voice got louder.

"Great." Dean rolled his eyes. "Of all the psychics I could have gotten tied up with, I get tied up with the useless one. Any other ideas, Miss Cleo?"

Sam jerked forward, just to upset Dean's balance. "You could think of something too, you know."

As Dean opened his mouth to retort, Melvin came back and with a large red can of lighter fluid. As he unscrewed the cap, Sam cleared his throat loudly. Melvin looked up. "Oh, you guys are awake. Just in time."

"Uh, for what?" Sam looked up at Melvin. "You said you were going to tell us about the yellow eyed demon."

"After the prank." Melvin winked as the cap came free.

"What kind of prank?" Sam asked as he looked around nervously. Dean thought he already knew, and he dreaded to hear it said out loud.

"Well," Melvin explained patiently, "You guys are always doing salt and burns so I thought I'd salt and burn you!"

Melvin picked up the box of salt he had brought and shook it with a smile.

"Amateur." Dean coughed and turned his head away from the ghost's glare.

"Shut up!" Sam hissed.

"What was that?" Melvin glared.

Dean started to whistle as he looked up. "Hrm?"

"What did you say?" Melvin looked at him strangely.

"I said you're an amateur." Dean huffed. "I mean, really? A salt and burn?"

"I think it's rather clever." Melvin said crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean laughed. "Alright if you say so." He looked over at his shoulder at Sam. "Can you believe it Sam? He thinks that it's clever?"

Sam laughed nervously. Despite the fact that he didn't know entirely what his brother was planning, he went along with it. "Yeah, doesn't compare to what you've done to me."

Dean nodded knowingly. He looked back up at Melvin. "But it's your prank. I just thought you would want to do it right."

Melvin was pouring lighter fluid down the side of the pit. He stopped and looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Have you ever actually done a salt and burn?" Dean asked seriously.

"No." Melvin said warily.

Sam huffed. "Amateur."

"Everyone knows you don't burn the body first." Dean said slowly as if he was explaining the facts to a small child. "You dig the pit, start the fire _and then…_"

"Only then." Sam emphasized as he started to understand Dean's plan.

Dean carried on as if he hadn't been interrupted at all, "You throw the bones into the pit." Dean looked around the pit. "And it looks to me, like you got a little over eager here."

"Dean," Sam said casually, "if you were trying to impress someone do you think it would work if you got the tricks wrong? Twice?"

Dean paused as if he was seriously considering it. "No, Sam." He looked up at Melvin. "Not. At. All."

Melvin glared at them. As much as he hated to admit it, they were probably right. He was not, however, going to give the smug bastards the satisfaction of knowing they were right. "Not that I believe you," Melvin snarled, "I'm going to take you out of the pit so I can tell you about Yellow Eyes. That'll give me enough time to get a fire going."

"Good idea." Dean said sarcastically.

"If you untie us, we'll walk out." Sam tried helpfully.

"Shut up." Melvin snapped, shaking his finger warningly. "Just be quiet. You wouldn't understand how it feels to be under appreciated. If you knew, you'd understand why this has to be done right!"

Dean thought he understood, but there was no way he'd go on a killing spree just to get people's respect. Even with Dad's standing order to kill Sam, Dean wouldn't dream of doing it. He stayed silent as Melvin grabbed them by their elbows and dragged them to the top of the pit. Melvin threw the lighter fluid into the pit. "I think that's enough." He muttered to himself.

Whenever he looked over at the Winchesters for help they chimed in with as many suggestions they could muster. They patiently explained it as clearly as they could to Melvin, but often had to argue amongst themselves to get it right. Melvin listened as best he could to their stalling tactic. Lastly, Melvin liberally threw salt into the pit. Brushing dirt off his hands on his pants, Melvin smiled proudly. "Shit," he snapped, "I forgot my lighter."

Sam, who had been using a knife in the sleeve of his shirt to cut away at the rope for the past hour, froze his actions. "We can wait here while you go get one from our room."

Melvin rolled his eyes. "I'm not moron. I know that one," he pointed at Dean, "has a lighter on him."

Dean looked up and shook his head. "Nope."

Melvin reached over and touched Dean's pockets. He withdrew the silver lighter with a smile. "That's what I thought."

Melvin flicked the lighter open and shut as he played with the flame. Dean hung his head low and swore. Sam grunted and worked the knife faster, cutting rope and skin.

"See, here's the thing." Melvin spoke as he appeared and disappeared around the circle of the pit. "Yellow Eyes? Got something bigger planned than a bunch of psychics." Melvin continued to toy with the lighter as he decided on the best place to throw it in. "And you know how I know? 'Cause it's the one thing that doesn't get spread around the spirits for to gossip about. So I really don't give a shit. I just want ghosts to treat as more than a spirit to walk through."

Melvin smiled. "And now I'm gonna get it." He threw the open lighter into the pit, and the flame danced in the glass of his spectacles.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Mr. Owens was an exceptionally good at his job as the Motel Owner. One of his outstanding qualities was his curiosity that pushed him to know everything. The repeat customers were constantly amazed at his ability to recognize them and tiny details about their lives they had mentioned off handedly.

No matter what, Mr. Owens liked to _know. _

It was three am when he stepped outside. The newspaper delivery man would be there any minute, with a stack of one hundred fresh new papers. Mr. Owens considered it the best part of his night, when he got to walk around his motel and place a newspaper in front of each guest's door. Admittedly, a little boring, but it kept him awake when he worked night shift.

Tonight, as he waited he looked over in the distance. He stared at the construction site and wondered if a boutique would be good for business. Mr. Owens adjusted his horn rimmed glasses as he glimpsed a flash of orange. He blinked to clear his vision. But as he looked again, he noticed that a fire was indeed going. Mr. Owens took a step towards that general direction but froze as he heard a truck pull up.

"Good morning." The newspaper man said as he opened his door.

Mr. Owens took the paper as politely as possible and kept the conversation short. He set down the papers inside, made sure the safe was locked, and adjusted a sign that said: _Thank You for Your Patience: I'll be right back. _

Mr. Owens crossed the space quickly as he went to discover what happened.

He had to know.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Melvin looked at the blaze and smiled triumphantly. He turned to look at the Winchesters, expecting some sort of recognition or applause. He caught himself and shook his head; they weren't ready to appreciate the beauty of what he'd begun. Melvin wasn't done yet.

Rivulets of blood trickled down Sam's and Dean's wrists as Sam's blade repeatedly slipped. They ignored the pain and tried to move faster to free themselves of the ropes. Just as the rope seemed close to snapping, Melvin marched over. "Now," Melvin glared at Dean, "Do you salt and burn bodies one at a time or can I do two?"

"One." Dean said looking up with a forced smile. "I'll go first if you want."

Melvin shook his head. "Actually…"

"What the devil is going on here?" Mr. Owens yelled as he approached the roaring fire. "You construction people don't even know your own work code! You know perfectly well that you can't have open fi-"

Mr. Owens froze as noticed Sam and Dean tied together at the edge of the pit. "And kidnapping's illegal, too." He added weakly.

Melvin fumed. "I'm sick of interruptions."

He marched forward and dragged the stuttering hotel owner by the shirt collar. "You can go first."

"Me?" Mr. Owens stammered. "But I don't even know what's going on!"

Melvin jabbed his finger at the man's broad chest. "Don't pretend you don't know. I told you not to rent out 113! That's my fucking room to haunt."

Sam grunted and with a last tug, the ropes slipped off his and Dean's wrists. Dean kicked out his leg, and Mr. Owens fell flat to the ground. Melvin lost his grip on Mr. Owens and rationality. He was absolutely livid. Dean dove away from the ghost to get the open salt box.

Mr. Owens was struggling to get up as Melvin pushed him aside to get to Dean. Mr. Owens was thrown to the floor and his horn rimmed glasses flew off his face. They skittered across the ground and landed inside the pit. The last earthly remnants of Melvin Harbunkle were promptly lit on fire. Despite the Melvin's protesting, he was finally free of Earth and sent to a higher realm.

Sam and Dean watched the fire in the pit extinguish. Mr. Owens looked over the pit, flabbergasted.

"You owe me five bucks buddy!" Mr. Owens snapped, pushing himself to his feet. He hastily brushed dirt from his shirt as he attempted to regain his official tone. "I don't know what stunt you were pulling out here but those glasses were antiques!"

Dean rolled his eyes. If only motel owners knew what his job was, maybe he could get the room compensated more often. "Sure," Sam wheezed. "We'll drop something off at the front desk in the morning."

Mr. Owens glared and wondered if he should ask what had happened. But for some reason, his thirst for knowledge was gone, and all he wanted was a chaser of this-cannot-be-real.

He stormed off as Dean helped Sam shakily to his feet. "Amateur?" Sam huffed. "That's what's you come up with?"

Dean smirked and gestured at his mostly unscathed self. "We're here aren't we? That wasn't so bad."

"No." Sam looked over at the empty pit and back at Dean. "It wasn't." He bent down and tossed Dean one of their shovels that Melvin had taken. "But it's not the worst to come, is it?"

Dean grabbed his duffle and hefted it. "Sam, I told you—whatever it is that Yellow Eyes has planned, we'll take care of it."

Sam looked up at him. "Whatever it is, it scared a ghost Dean."

"It wasn't a very impressive ghost," Dean pointed out with a smile.

Sam nodded, and begrudgingly smiled as well. "Y'know, it'd be nice if all our ghosts were that moronic."

Dean nodded as they continued to walk towards their room. "I wish."

What a peculiar phrase, I wish. Dean Winchester didn't really realize what he was saying. I wish. Once upon a time, Melvin had wished the school bullies would leave him alone. They killed him. His luck hadn't gotten any better, and his wishes had never been granted. It just goes to show that, wishing is useless, and—

This isn't a fairy tale.

**.:the end:. **


End file.
